


Saturday Games

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s06e19 The Unnatural, F/M, First Kisses, Fluff, an au take of how it could have been, does the air in mulder's mouth taste better than scully's nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicle?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22463404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Imagine the beginning of “The Unnatural” had gone slightly different…
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 4
Kudos: 90





	Saturday Games

Maybe it’s because of the way Mulder looks at her. Or maybe it’s much simpler than that; maybe it’s just because it’s Saturday. Or… or maybe there is no reason at all. All she knows that her nonfat Tofutti rice dreamsicle starts it all.

“I bet the air in my mouth tastes better than that,” he says, returning his attention to the large book in front of him. Scully takes another bite, cherishes the taste on her tongue. She licks her lip, watching him.

“Well, I don’t know,” she says, “I’d have to try it. For comparison.” She takes another bite to stop her heart from pounding. Mulder turns to her, doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. His face says everything.

“You want to…”

She shrugs. “You know how much I like proof. I bet that my nonfat Tofutti rise dreamsicle tastes better than the air in your mouth.” Her eyes flit to his lips briefly before she brings them back up to meet his. There’s a challenge there. 

“All right.” He gets up and for a moment she forgets that she’s standing on boxes. Mulder catches her before she falls, his hands firmly planted on her hips. He leaves them there, doesn’t move at all. Their bodies are close, much closer than she anticipated and she gives him a sheepish smile, her cheeks warming from embarrassment.

“So how do we-” She should have known that he doesn’t need to think about it. No rules. No hesitation. His mouth lands on hers and in her surprise, she gasps, opening her mouth. That’s all the invitation Mulder needs. His tongue plunges inside and tangles with hers. She tries to keep a clear head, to not lose herself in Mulder’s touch, in his taste. That’s what it’s all about. His taste. But she can’t think. His mouth on hers feels perfect; it feels right. She’s never felt so hungry. She wants more. Needs more.

Then, just as quickly as the kiss began, it’s over. She licks her bottom lip, needing to taste the last trace of Mulder. He watches her, his eyes full of hunger. His pupils are dilated and Scully is certain that hers are, too.

“What’s the verdict?” he asks, sounding hoarse. They’re still standing close. He’s still holding her. Scully doesn’t know what happened to the dreamsicle. It might have melted in her hands, or on the floor. She’d been looking forward to that treat all morning. Now she’s had a taste of something much, much better. And she’s still very, very hungry.

“You were right,” she says, keeping her voice calm and steady. As steady as she can, anyway. “The air in your mouth does taste better.”

He beams at her, leaning in again but she knows they can’t do this. Not here, not now. Saturday or not, this is still their office. When his lips almost touch hers again, she stops him with her words:

“So Mulder, now that we’ve established that you were right, care to enlighten me why we’re here in the basement on this precious Saturday? What do you hope to find in these New Mexico newspaper obituaries for the years 1940 to 1949?”

He doesn’t step back. His face is close, his lips are closer. “Looking for anomalies, Scully. Do you know how many so-called "flying disc” reports there were in New Mexico in the 1940s?“

"I don’t care, Mulder,” she says and means it. She should have just eaten her dreamsicle in peace. “This is a needle in a haystack. These poor souls have been dead for 50 years. Let them rest in peace. Let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Hm, hurling clichés at me, Scully?” His voice sounds just like his kiss tasted. She shudders, wanting more. “Preparation is the father of inspiration.” The words land smack on her lips and her mind is slow to catch up.

“Necessity is the mother of invention,” she says weakly. Mulder is everywhere. His mouth, his touch, his words.

“The road to excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”

“Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die.”

“You’re so right,” he whispers, catching her off guard and capturing her lips. She isn’t sure who’s won the game and for once, she doesn’t care.


End file.
